Paying the Price
by SixesandSevens
Summary: Fill for prompt on LJ: There's an explosion, details on how this comes about are up to anon. Maybe a few members are mildly injured or maybe they're all just fine, except for Daryl, whose really bad off.
1. Chapter 1

_AN: This was written spur of the moment and without going back through to re-read or edit, which is something I never do! I'm like OCD about it... but, I wanted to get this posted tonight and I won't have time for that. _

_Also, I feel the need to state that I am not a medical professional, not even close- so I will do my best in those regards and please just chalk up medical blunders on my part as creative license._

_One more note, I'd like to apologize for the brevity. This is still a WIP, and I'm not sure how many chapters will be in it, but I don't intend for the rest to be near so short. _

_Enjoy! :)_

It was supposed to be a simple run. Should have been. But in an instant it went to absolute shit. They should have seen it coming. But, really, how could they? There was no way they could have known. It's not as though you expect these things to happen. Sure, you keep your guard up, you know the shit's gonna hit the fan sooner or later; but when it does, you're never quite ready for it. And now, whether it could have been anticipated or not was beside the point. Because the fact of the matter was, Rick had missed it. And now, Daryl may very well pay the price for that.

* * *

A bowl of grisly squirrel meat floating listlessly in a thin broth, dollops of fat and bits of chopped onions swirling about to complete the unattractive medley, was presented to him for breakfast. Mmmm, mmmm good.

"Thanks Carol." Rick offered sincerely as he accepted his share of the mornings slop, eyeing it dubiously. It may not be gourmet cuisine, or even fast-food level fare, but he was grateful for all the meals Carol seemed to magic into existence. She was becoming increasingly adept at stretching their meager reserves and keeping them all eating as best as possible under the circumstances, doing what she could to include variety- both for health purposes and a change in the menu.

Carol's lips turned up into that matronly smile of hers. "Well, it may not be much," she stated modestly, "but Daryl managed to bring back a string of squirrels last night. At least it's not peaches and onions." She chuckled a bit.

Rick raised his bowl in salute accompanied by a small smile, "Now I'm extra grateful."

He headed off toward the tables quietly taking a seat with Daryl and Hershel, bidding them good morning; the greeting was met with a return in kind from Hershel and a grunt from Daryl.

They sat in amiable silence, not exactly enjoying their meals, but not exactly _not_ enjoying them either. Rick took to people watching as he ate. It'd been two weeks now, since they'd taken in the people from Woodbury; everyone seemed to be adjusting well, settling into a routine of sorts. Everyone was willing and able to contribute in any way they could. He found that any doubts he'd harbored about bringing these people into the fold lessened each day.

Of course there were still issues to address, kinks to iron out, and much work to be done. Such as continuing to fortify the prison as well as cleaning out new areas, creating some kind of routine for the kids, maybe putting some form of schooling into place - the prison had a library - maybe they could have the kids read for a while each day or something. Then of course there was the large issue of resupplying. Which was currently Rick's main concern. They were beginning to run dangerously low on everything, most especially food.

"So, Daryl. You up for a run later?"


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: I try to thank all my reviewers personally and just wanted to thank those that didn't have logins to reply to, I appreciate each one. And everyone who favs, follows, or simply reads! :)_

_Enjoy!_

"So this guy with a premature ejaculation problem comes out of nowhere."

"What?" Rick startled at the voice coming from nearly _inside_ his ear, he glanced in bewilderment to the right only to find Daryl leaned over in his seat in a total invasion of his personal space, pinning him with a barely perceptible, albeit self-satisfied smirk.

Shocked silence reigned for a moment at Daryl's unexpected and left-fielded comment, then raucous laughter exploded from the back seat of the extended cab. As if Glenn and Maggie's merriment was his cue, Daryl leaned back to his side of the truck; he also treated them all to a true rarity, an honest-to-god grin.

"Oh, so _that_ got your attention." He chuckled. He sobered quickly as Maggie and Glenn continued to laugh uproariously. "Where the hell you been in that damn head of yours, Rick? I've been trying to get your attention for like five minutes."

Rick shook his head grinning sheepishly. "Zoned out I guess. Sorry about that."

Daryl waved his hand in dismissal, "Ain't nothing. Anyway, The Newlyweds and I were just trying to ask you how far out this place is."

"Didn't I already tell you that?"

"No."

"Coulda swore I did." Rick stated quietly, more to himself than to Daryl.

"That don't change the fact that you didn't." Irritation began to creep into the hunter's voice. He propped his feet casually on the dash, began absently picking at his nails. "All you said was you passed it by on a run awhile back and made note to come back later. Something about a general store"

Rick nodded casting a glance at the Rhee's in the rearview mirror who had quieted down, but were still smiling happily. They looked more relaxed than he could remember seeing them since the farm, it was good to see. "Yeah, some little mom-and-pop place about sixteen miles from the prison. I was actually surprised to see it still standing, seems to me a good place to round up supplies, but it looked to be fairly untouched from what I could tell."

"That's pretty surprising." Glenn said, leaning forward between the seats. "How close did you check it out Rick?"

"And how long ago?" Maggie chimed in.

"I didn't actually stop to look at it, just passed it from the road. It's all by itself though, kinda in the middle of nowhere. I imagine that's the reason it's still intact. As for how long…" He rubbed his chin thinking about it. "I don't know, probably a month or so at least."

"Well, let's just hope no one else had the same idea between now and then." Maggie stated wryly to the general agreement of the others.

* * *

As they pulled up to Payne's Half-Price Shoppe, Rick was pleased to find it appeared to be just as intact as it'd been when he'd seen it last. Litter blew about the lot haphazardly and the little adjacent field was badly over grown, the building was beginning to show signs of weathering and the need for general maintenance, but all in all, it was in good shape. No broken windows, the wooden door, more typical for a house than what you'd expect to find on a storefront, was firmly latched. The squat building sat by itself on the corner of a crossroads, providing an unobstructed view in all directions. No walkers for miles. Unless, of course, any bloodthirsty fiends were hidden within.

"Not bad." Daryl voiced his approval of the potential treasure trove.

"Yeah, it's got a certain curb side appeal." Glenn joked grabbing his shotgun and sliding out of the vehicle.

Two steps led to the doorway and raised walkway running the length of the storefront. Daryl climbed them and rapped his elbow on one of the windows bordering the door, waiting to see if in anything stirred within from the disruption. A few minutes passed, all was quiet.

"Guess we're good." He stated as they all moved to take position. Glenn and Maggie pressed up against the wall between the window and door to the left, Rick against the wall to the right, weapons at the ready. Daryl stood in front of the door, crossbow raised, taking point. Glancing at the others and receiving a nod from each, indicating they were ready, he reached for the doorknob and turned, found it unlocked and swung the door inward.

_BOOOOM!_

The intensity of the heat from the blast was stunning, the gale force winds it produced even more so. Rick found himself launched into the metal railing at the edge of the platform with bruising force. And the noise. Goddamn it was _loud_. The only sound Rick registered above the din was Maggie's piercing scream and even that only dimly.

Coughing and with ribs shouting their protests, he rolled up to a seated position. Through the aftermath of settling dust, he spotted Glenn and Maggie gathering themselves back together, standing on shaky legs and checking eachother over, their coughs mixing with his. Maggie's eyes scanned the area, a look of shock painted on her face. Her gaze locked onto his for a moment, assessing that he seemed to be alright then continued her search, which abruptly stopped, her eyes widening in horror.

"No." It came out wispy and pained, and drawing Glenn's eyes to the object of her distress.

He paled visibly.

Rick was almost afraid to look, fearing what he'd find, stomach turning to ice when he did.

Maggie's voice grew suddenly stronger, and filled with terror. "No. No, no, no, no! _Daryl! _Oh my god!"

She blurred past, literally flying down the steps, sliding to her knees at Daryl's side where he was only beginning to come to with a groan. Her hands flitted uselessly above his body, clearly wanting to do something, but either not knowing what or too afraid to touch him, before settling on his face to keep his head still when it tried lolling about.

Unaware he'd even moved Rick found himself kneeling on Daryl's other side, as Maggie shushed him and gently brushed his hair from his face. Looking down at Daryl, Rick was at a loss. He knew he had to do something. They _had_ to get Daryl back to Hershel, and it was up to him to make that happen. But it was as if his higher brain functions had left the building.

All he could seem to focus on were his friend's, his _brother's_, eyes swimming wildly in their orbits - left pupil blown leaving only the thinnest ring of blue visible, while the right was at a normal size – the face they were framed in, a ghastly shade of gray; a puddle of blood revealing itself beneath his head as it slowly grew, no doubt a result of landing on unforgiving macadam. But that was the least of his worries.

And head wounds were nothing to fuck with.

No, what had Rick really and truly petrified was the jagged chunk of wooden door protruding from Daryl's chest.


	3. Chapter 3

_AN: Once again, I'd just like to thank everyone for reading and reviewing. It's awesome that you all are enjoying this! I hope this chapter is another hit. :)_

Panic gripped him, strangled him, paralyzed him. Daryl lay before him, bleeding everywhere, dazed and confused, struggling to breath; all the while, Maggie knelt there muttering an endless litany, 'It's okay, it's okay. It's gonna be _just_ fine,' and petting his face soothingly. Daryl allowed her to do this, which was alarming in itself, making no protests to the intimate touch. In fact, he didn't even seem to be aware it was happening. Rick felt like he was in a dream, mouth gone dry leaving his tongue feeling like a swollen and foreign thing, blood roaring in his ears rendering all other sound dull and distant, body swimming in water thick as molasses making his movements slow and arduous. This couldn't be happening. But this _was_ happening. Daryl was literally dying right before his eyes, and he was just staring like an idiot. He had to _do_ something.

Daryl's abrupt and weak attempt to sit shook Rick from his impotent stupor. He almost let out a hysterical laugh at that, only barely managing to tamp it down. Daryl always seemed to be finding some way to kick Rick's ass into gear, even half-dead and bleeding on the ground. And just like that, the urge for laughter morphed into the urge for tears. With some effort, he held those back too.

"Hey, it's okay, man. Just lie still." Rick said as calmly as he could, placing a gentle yet firm hand on Daryl's shoulder, easily holding him in place. In his peripheral vision he noticed Glenn cautiously shining his flashlight into the gaping maw that once was the doorway to the store, but paid him no mind.

"Whaaa?" Daryl slurred, trying to lift his head to get a look at himself. Assess the damage. The situation. Anything. The confusion in Daryl's eyes tore at Rick. He clearly had no idea what was going on. Rick wasn't even sure he was feeling the pain yet, to which Rick could only attribute to shock; he wanted to count that as a blessing, but found it only increased the dread crawling like spiders in his gut.

"No! Just stay still." Rick commanded putting just a touch more pressure on the shoulder he held and moving so he bodily blocked Daryl's view; Maggie's hand on his forehead assisted in keeping him from seeing. He didn't need to see that. Not yet. He'd know soon enough as it is. Right now they had to focus on stabilizing him as best they could, keeping him calm, not causing him to panic at the sight of fucking _door_ sticking out of his torso.

As Daryl's lids fluttered shut, Rick brushed Maggie's hands silently asking her to back away for a moment, which she did. He placed his hands on either side of Daryl's face, trying to both ground him and gain his attention.

"Daryl." His eyes opened, but began lolling about lazily. "Daryl." Rick said again, gently tapping his cheek, the disoriented gaze staggered to a stop on Rick's anxious one.

"Think…," Daryl paused and gasped, screwing his eyes shut and heaving a pained breath through clenched teeth, "…think something's wrong with me, Rick."

Rick tried to keep all trace of fear from his voice, not sure how well he succeeded. "I'm not gonna lie to you. You're hurt. Bad. But you're gonna be okay. We've got you, we're gonna get you back to Hershel, and he'll fix you right up. I just need you to keep still, keep calm. You with me, Daryl?"

Daryl looked at him through glazed eyes. "Yeah," it came out a shaky whisper.

"Rick." Glenn's voice was strained as he crouched down next to the others, he nervously looked Daryl over and fiddled with the shotgun, muzzle pointed harmlessly toward the ground, before turning his eyes back to their de-facto leader.

"Whoever did this knew what they were doing. I think they're long gone… but the whole place is booby trapped! Why would someone do something like this?" He looked back down at Daryl with an expression that did nothing to conceal his fear for the injured man.

Thankfully, Daryl's eyes had slipped closed again so he didn't notice.

Rick sent Glenn a meaningful glare, _'Keep your shit together! Daryl needs us right now.'_

Aloud he said, "Doesn't much matter why. What matters is they did, and we need to get Daryl back to the prison. Now."

Maggie and Glenn both nodded in the affirmative.

"I'll grab the kit." Maggie stated, referring to the small canvas bag containing a few first aid supplies, currently stored in the console of the truck, and scurried off.

Rick began carefully prodding the back of Daryl's head to be sure there was no brain leaking through, or anything else equally horrible, eliciting a moan. When he found what felt like a nearly a two-inch long gash Daryl's breath stuttered and his left leg kicked out feebly – which Glenn immediately grabbed, stilling it and patting it reassuringly, telling Daryl everything's okay – but he's otherwise unresponsive, eyes remaining closed, and all at once Rick's terrified he's already slipping away.

He glanced back down at Daryl's face, finding it completely devoid of color now, save for the thin stream of blood running from the corner of his mouth, trickling down his jaw and dripping onto the pavement. The red seemed to stand out so _brightly _against the pallid skin. Daryl's breathing was shallow and unsteady, hitching in his chest. Oh, and the icing on the cake, there was still that hunk of wood making itself an unwelcome guest, almost dead center in Daryl's body, a couple of inches below and to the right of his solar plexus. There's _no way_ internal organs hadn't been compromised this time. Not like the time he fell down that ravine back on the farm. No, luck wouldn't shine on them forever would it?

When Maggie reappeared and promptly began readying bandages, Rick let out a sigh of relief at having something other than his friend's rapidly deteriorating condition to focus on. He gently lifted Daryl's head, deliberately keeping his body blocking any view Daryl might have of his upper body, so that Maggie could wrap the gauze around his head.

She's quick and efficient in her work and when she's done, she knelt right in the gore to simultaneously cushion Daryl's head and keep the bandages from soaking up the blood that had already drenched the ground. Exchanging a helpless look with Glenn, and offering him a thin, watery smile she turned to Rick. "What do we do now? I don't know if we should take that out."

"No," Rick replied. "We can't. It's the only thing keeping him from bleeding out."

"Well it's not doing a very good job of it." Glenn cringed at the amount of blood staining Daryl's shirt, pooling around him. "I mean look at him! It's got to be hurting him worse; we can't just leave it in!"

Rick bowed his head, scrubbing his face with his hands and forcefully pushed away the despair that was trying to break him. He refused to be defeated by this. To let it defeat _Daryl_.

"No." He stated with finality. "It's doing enough. There's nothing we can do for it right now. If we take it out, we'll only make it worse."

He raised his head looking at Glenn and Maggie almost pleadingly, his voice increasing in intensity as he spoke, whispering harshly to convey the severity of the situation, but not wanting to outright yell and risk disturbing their fallen member or attract any more outside threats than the blast had already. "We take it out… we miss something – a splinter – and put pressure on it…" his voice lowered even more, like he was trying to keep Daryl from hearing. "We could kill him!"

A few silent seconds drifted by in the aftermath of Rick's speech, each of them staring desolately at their charge and contemplating the consequences if they fucked this up.

Sniffling, Maggie wiped at her eyes, tear tracks staining dirty cheeks. "We've got to get moving," she stated in a thick voice.

Rick moved to slide carefully into Maggie's place at Daryl's head and eased his arms underneath Daryl's shoulders, "Maggie, go open up the truck." In answer she scooped up the medical supplies and raced off.

"Glenn, get his legs. It'd be better if we had a board or something to lay him on…" or a _door_ Rick thought morbidly, "… so just try to keep his torso as straight as you can."

"Right."

Glenn crouched between Daryl's legs and placed his hands underneath his knees rather than trying to lift from the ankles, hoping that would aid them in keeping the man's body from bowing when they lifted.

Looking to eachother, Rick and Glenn began to lift Daryl as one. They'd barely moved him, when Daryl suddenly let out a choked cry, dashing Rick's hopes that he'd stay unconscious at least for the duration of the whole relocation process. Immediately aborting the attempt to move him, they eased him back down.

Rick looked at Daryl alarmed to see he'd paled even more, if that was even possible.

"It's okay," Rick reassured. "We're just moving you to the truck."

Daryl moaned, head rolling drunkenly on his shoulders. "What's wrong wi…?" The words petered out when his eyes landed on the ghastly wound. "Oh."

He sounded nauseous when he said it.

That was all the warning they got before he started heaving, it was enough though, as Rick had already begun rolling him to his left side, Glenn turning his legs to keep his body from twisting. Rick cradled Daryl's head as he was wracked with the merciless convulsions, Glenn supporting the weight of the wood impaling the poor man, keeping it from shifting as much as possible and causing further damage.

He didn't bring up much, just a bit of the mornings' stew and bile, flecks of blood intermingling with it. But mostly it was painful dry heaves. Finally, the vomiting ceased, Daryl slumped bonelessly in their arms, panting with exhaustion, only Rick and Glenn's support keeping him from laying right in the mess.

"…'m I dying?" The words were so quiet and smeared together, Rick could barely understand him. He could see the panic brewing in Daryl's unfocused gaze, unshed tears pooling in his eyes, he wanted more than anything to take his pain away. To fix this.

"No. No, Daryl, you are _not_ dying!" He said with conviction.

Daryl stared up at him with a look of such naked trust, Rick could feel the weight of it in his very soul, and he had no intention to betray that trust.

"Come on let's get you to the truck." Rick and Glenn once again adjusted their grips on Daryl to carry him.

They moved in tandem, doing a decent job of keeping him level, but the movement was too much for Daryl, and despite his efforts he let out an agonized scream, body going rigid then suddenly limp as he passed out again.

Maggie stood at the open door of the truck, watching the scene unfold with a panicked expression. As the men neared, she slid into the cab ready to let Daryl's head rest in her lap and attend to him as best she could during the ride.

With Daryl settled, Glenn and Rick fairly dove into the front seats. Rick floored the pedal, racing back to the prison while trying to keep the truck from bumping around too much and jostling their precious cargo.

The air inside the cab was thick with a tense foreboding. Glancing back in the rearview mirror at his grievously injured friend, Rick stomped on the gas a little harder, willing the speeding truck to move faster. He wouldn't fail Daryl. He. Would. Not.


	4. Chapter 4

_AN: Thank you so much for the response to this, and to all those who have read and reviewed. I'd also like to give a special thanks to the reviewers without logins since I'm not able to personally respond to you. Each review brings a smile to my face. :)_

The truck sped down the road making good time, but Maggie couldn't help but think it wasn't good enough. She stared down at Daryl noting the lines of pain etched in his features, even in unconsciousness. A thin film of sweat had cocooned his body, yet he was cold to the touch and sometimes he'd shiver in his sleep. His pulse was weak, yet racing. His breathing compromised, becoming harder and harder to detect. His skin far too white. The only color to him the blue tinge his lips had taken on and deep, dark bruises marring the skin under his eyes. And the red of blood. So much blood.

She could smell it.

Blood, sweat, fear.

_Death._

No! It couldn't come to that. She rejected the idea. The door fragment that'd pierced him wasn't even that big, maybe only a few inches in diameter and about foot long, she couldn't begin to guess how deeply it'd buried itself in his chest though. He couldn't die. The shard wasn't even that big. But in her heart she knew.

It was _plenty_ big enough. More than.

Glancing out the window she barely saw the wasted world whizzing by, her main points of focus the fingers on one hand keeping track of Daryl's pulse and the palm of the other splayed on his chest feeling for the shallow breaths that seemed to be spacing themselves further and further apart.

Although, she did note that she recognized the area. Not much further now. Only a couple miles further, maybe a little more. Daryl's moan brought her gaze back down to him. He blinked, slowly opening his eyes halfway, their gaze clouded with pain, the left pupil still blown wide. She offered him a strained smile.

"Hey there." She said softly, brushing damp hair off his face. It was getting so long.

He didn't answer, just watched her.

"We're almost back to the prison." She told him. "Daddy's gonna fix you right up when we get there."

"Sure." He whispered calmly, but his eyes said something else. They spoke of such a mournful resignation that it was all she could do to keep from bursting into sobs. Her throat constricted and she couldn't keep the tears back, they flowed freely down her cheeks, but she did not sob out loud. Only in her heart.

She reached for the hand lying limply on his stomach and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Don't you give up, Daryl Dixon." She demanded, her voice thick from tears, yet her eyes burned with determination. "We haven't given up on you. You don't get to give up on yourself."

Their eyes locked in a silent challenge. Green on blue. Each warring for their cause- one pair insisting _'fight!'_ the other imploring _'let go'_.

When his eyes tiredly slipped closed and his hand weakly squeezed back she knew she'd won. He'd fight. He wouldn't give up. She looked up to see Glenn peering back anxiously and gave him a nod. Glenn let out a relieved sigh. And just as Maggie was feeling that spark of hope reigniting, that this frantic flight home wasn't an exercise in futility, it extinguished.

Daryl's hand went lax in hers.

His breathing stuttered then stopped.

Panic clawed at her. She felt a wail of despair bubbling up inside her, but wouldn't allow it to escape. She couldn't break down now. Not when action was the only course.

"Rick!" She screamed as she carefully slid out from under Daryl's head into the floorboard. "Drive faster! He's not breathing!" Tilting Daryl's head back, she pinched his nose shut and blew a breath into his mouth.

She could taste his blood on her lips.

* * *

When Maggie started shrieking that Daryl wasn't breathing, Rick thought his heart may have stopped. He turned in his seat to the sight of Maggie kneeling in the floor of the vehicle manually breathing for his best friend. He couldn't see Daryl's face with Maggie leaning over him like that, but Daryl's body was alarmingly still. He was still before, when they'd laid him in the truck, but now there was just something different about the way he laid there… some quality Rick couldn't put words to.

_Lifeless._

_Utterly lifeless._

Hell. Maybe he could put words to it.

He wished he couldn't.

He turned back to the road, grinding his teeth in frustration. They were so close, they couldn't lose him now! Rick could see the prison looming in the distance, and it was quickly growing to fill the view of the windshield as they hurtled toward it. Even when they crossed the point where scavenging parties customarily slowed, he never let up on the gas. They were nearly on the gates when they finally opened to allow them entry.

Rick didn't see who was on sentry duty or patrolling the gates, but whoever it was must have gathered something was up because the inner gates where already open and ready for them. Thank god for that. He got the truck as close to the prison as he could before skidding to a halt.

A few people were gathering, wondering what had happened and the fear was clear on their faces. As he jumped out of the truck he saw Carol handing Judith off to Carl. It was to her that he directed his orders, giving no one the chance to begin questioning him on what'd gone wrong.

"We need Hershel! And a gurney!" He knew he sounded desperate, but couldn't find it in himself to care at the moment. Carol shot him a despairing look even as she began rushing inside, clearly agonizing over not knowing, and the answers to come for that matter, but understanding that explanations would have to wait.

"And an Ambu Bag!" Maggie shouted out to him as she checked Daryl's pulse making sure his heart hadn't given out too.

"Right. And an Ambu bag!" He called out to Carol's retreating back.

"Got it!" She called back as she disappeared from view.

He threw open the back door, Glenn joining him, ready to move Daryl to the gurney when it showed up. People were closing in, asking what'd happened. He heard Glenn give an abbreviated explanation of the catastrophic run. But Rick couldn't focus on them. All he could focus on was Maggie performing rescue breathing on his brother. And how pale and still Daryl looked. And how long it was taking for Hershel and that gurney to show up. And how it'd already been nearly seven minutes since Daryl had stopped breathing on his own.

Finally the gurney arrived, Beth and Carol rushing it out. Hershel wasn't far behind and was next to them as soon as they had Daryl settled on the gurney. Hershel looked alarmed then grim, but for his part, didn't ask any questions. Not yet. He just sent Carol inside to get things ready for a surgery and immediately went to work; checking Daryl's vitals and inserting an endotracheal tube into his throat, attaching the Ambu bag to it. Hershel handed the bag to Beth.

"Bethie, you remember how to operate this, right? Squeeze it every five to six seconds." The girl tore her horrified gaze off of Daryl's broken body. She looked up at her father and the terror melted away, replaced by a steely resolve that shone from her eyes as she began rhythmically squeezing the Ambu bag. Rick realized with a start that Beth was no longer a child, somewhere along the way she'd grown into a fine young woman. He wondered if he'd notice the change with Carl. Maybe it'd happened already, or maybe he was a child with too much power. It wasn't so long ago that he'd gunned down that boy in cold blood…

Hershel was directing Glenn and Maggie to take Daryl inside, effectively shaking Rick from his troubling musings. He followed them in, ready to help in any way he could.


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: Once again I just want to thank everyone who's reading this story, and for the fav's, follows and reviews. You are all so awesome! :) I also want to apologize for the wait on this chapter, I'd intended to get it out quicker then this, but... clearly that didn't happen! lol So I thank you all for sticking with me on this._

_Also, I realized I never did put a disclaimer on this. I don't own anything TWD or otherwise._

_Enjoy!_

On his crutches Hershel was slower than the others. Rick would have kept pace with the gurney so he could keep Daryl in his sights, but Hershel had taken this opportunity to learn about the circumstances that had created a patient for him.

"What on earth happened out there, Rick?" Hershel's eyes were sad yet resolute. Rick had no doubt the man plodding along beside him was where his daughters' mettle came from.

Rick heaved a great sigh, feeling his bruised ribs twinge painfully at the deep intake of air. Not that it mattered. He'd gotten off easy. So had Glenn and Maggie. They were probably a bit bruised and he'd vaguely registered a small cut on Maggie's forehead. But Daryl…

If only Rick had scouted the place better, he could have prevented all this. He probably never should have brought them there to begin with. He'd lost Shane to madness borne of desperation and a growing inability to be a team player. He couldn't lose Daryl too. Not like this. Not to his own stupidity. Guilt flowed through his veins like a poison, drowning him, burning him, crushing him.

"Rick?" Hershel nearly paused in the midst of swinging himself along on his crutches, to better address the distraught man, then clearly thought better of it and continued down the corridor to C block where Daryl waited, clinging to life; tethered to this world by a hairsbreadth and some plastic tubing breathing for him as he could not.

When Rick finally found his voice, it came out strained. "The place was rigged with explosives. Daryl took point, and the brunt of the blast. Glenn said there were more bombs inside, just waiting to be triggered. Why would someone do something like that?" He found himself echo Glenn's words from earlier; shook his head, scolded himself remembering what he'd said when asked the very same question. Now was not the time to get hung up on the how's and why's.

Knowing Rick didn't expect an answer Hershel nodded and carried on with questions of his own. "What can you tell me about the head wound?"

"Well he's definitely got a concussion; left eye's mostly pupil, the right looks normal. There's a gash on the back of his head, I didn't see it, but it felt about two inches long or so. He'll need stiches. That bled a lot too." Recounting the days' events and Daryl's injuries was making the knot in Rick's stomach coil even tighter. What looked bleak before seemed to become even bleaker upon closer inspection.

Hershel made no reply. They'd finally reached C block and he left Rick standing in the doorway, watching the scene unfold. Herschel shuffled forward in a hurry to where their family was gathered around Daryl. They'd locked the wheels on his bed right there in the middle of the holding area, Rick was glad to see. Moving him to a cell would pose problems. Hershel wouldn't have enough room to work and moving Daryl any more than necessary was beyond foolish. The Woodbury survivors had taken D block for themselves, so there was no worry of too many prying eyes, just their core group. Even Michonne was there, pouring steaming water from a large metal pot into and assortment of containers. Rick remembered with a pang that she and Daryl had plans to search for signs of the Governor again tomorrow. That wouldn't be happening now.

Carol was rushing about preparing medical instruments with Maggie's help, while Glenn was tearing a sheet into strips. Beth sat on a stool next to Daryl's head intently watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest as she rhythmically squeezed the Ambu Bag, only pausing at regular intervals to slide two fingers over his carotid artery, checking his pulse. Hershel scrubbed up quickly before seating himself on a second stool someone had thoughtfully placed for him at Daryl's right side, handing his crutches off to Glenn.

Rick startled when Carl suddenly appeared at his side muttering quietly that he'd left Judith with Karen. He looked down at his son who was staring at Daryl with a stricken look on his face. Right now he appeared every bit the child he rightfully was, Rick found he couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Carl look so young. Placing a hand on his son's shoulder he gave a reassuring squeeze. Carl glanced up at his father, expression never changing, then both returned their gazes to where the old vet was checking Daryl's vitals.

"Rick, Glenn." Hershel waited for the two men to come closer before continuing. "I'm going to have to pull this wood out and check for any other debris that may be in the wound. Judging by the placement, I expect his liver's been compromised, so I'll need to check it for injuries as well."

"His liver?" Glenn asked in a thin voice, looking pained himself. "What if it's too bad? Could he lose it? Can a person survive without a liver?"

Hershel regarded his son-in-law with a melancholy compassion. "No son, he can't." When the room seemed to collectively crumble under the weight of those words, he pressed on quickly. "But I don't believe it will come to that. Of course I can't be certain until I see the damage, but the liver is a large organ and considering the diameter of the foreign object, the damage should be minimal. Relatively." The last was stated gravely. He seemed to trail off for a moment, lost in his own thoughts, then shook them off and resumed his explanations of what they may be facing.

"Even if his liver is injured badly enough, I can safely remove a portion of it. In time it'll even regenerate itself, good as new, as though he'd never even lost a part of it. There's some good news." He offered the room a watery smile. His smile faded once again into a businesslike countenance as he nodded to Rick and Glenn. "As I was saying before, I'm going to have to perform invasive surgery on him. For the moment, he's deeply unconscious. I admit, there's a part of me that hopes he'll remain unconscious throughout the procedure, but we have to anticipate he won't and we don't have anything in the way of anesthetic. I'll need the two of you ready to keep him still."

There was no need to verbalize their agreement to the task. Rick would do anything for Daryl; for any member of their family actually, and so would Glenn. They each placed themselves at the injured mans' head and foot, respectively.

Carol stood across the table from Hershel, scrubbed up and ready to assist. When asked, she handed him one of the strips of material Glenn had just ripped up. Hershel wound it around the rough wood, to keep his hands sterilized and splinter free.

In that moment right before he gave a mighty pull on it, Rick felt time stop. Everything he saw was crisp and clear. Fear and anxiousness on everyone's faces. Determined concentration on Hershel's. Daryl's pale pale skin. The brilliant _red_ of blood. The tension in the air was so thick he could smell it, he could taste it; bitter and putrid, it coated his nostrils, his tongue, making him queasy. Sound had ceased to exist. Not even the whisper of air from the Ambu bag, or the others' breathing, or hell, even his _own_ breathing.

And then, all at once, Hershel yanked up on the wooden stake, _god his best friend had been staked!, _and time came rushing back into motion with a burst of sound and confusion. He watched Daryl's body arch up on the table, but the wood didn't come out. Hershel cursed under his breath and yanked again, harder this time. About four inches of wood came out and then it was free, spattering blood. He handed the door fragment to Michonne.

The room fell into chaos.

"Carol. He's bleeding too much! We have to slow it!" Hershel shouted as the two worked furiously to do just that.

"Daddy!" Beth cried. "His pulse is slowing!"

Maggie started sobbing into Glenn's chest.

"Damnit! Get some clamps and sponges in there!" Hershel directed Carol, placing bloody fingers on Daryl's wrist. He didn't seem pleased with what he found and instantly went back to work on trying to stop the bleeding that was swiftly pooling into a veritable lake around the hunter. "We have to stabilize him now! With the placement of his wound I don't want to risk compressions if we can avoid it."

Rick watched on with mounting horror, knowing this was on him and there was nothing he could do to fix it.


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: I must admit I'm equal parts nervous and excited about this chapter. I feel like it's either very good, or quite the opposite, lol. So I hope you all like it._

_I also want to give a huge THANK YOU! to RoxChick. I wasn't sure what direction to take a certain medical procedure or whether I should even include it, after discussing it with her though, I knew exactly what to do! Thanks girl! :D_

The afternoon sun beat down on him, making him sweat. The air was still and oppressively hot, so thick with heat and humidity he felt like he could reach out his hand and rip a chunk right out, take a bite. Not even a breeze was offered up to cool his skin or dry his hair, from which giant drops of perspiration dripped down to saturate his shoulders. The prison yard was eerily silent. No one was about, not even the walkers that had become a constant and grisly décor on the fences were present.

It was unnerving.

He studied the area with narrowed eyes and found nothing amiss. But something was off. It was too quiet. Where was everybody? Something must have happened. He was sure of it.

Daryl slipped his crossbow of his shoulder, raising it and crouching into a hunter's stance creeping forward with deft steps, even wearing his work boots, his footfalls made no sound. He slid the outer door leading to C block, opening it slowly, quietly. Peered inside with bated breath, feeling that any second now, the other shoe would drop. Found nothing but a dark and empty corridor. So he started down it, senses on high alert, heart thundering painfully in his chest.

When he reached the room preceding the cell block he glanced around the corner and found Beth standing at one of the tables pouring instant mashed potatoes into a big metal bowl. Lowering the crossbow, he let out a silent and relieved sigh feeling he should be reassured by her apparent tranquility, but was unable to let go of the niggling anxiety that kept clawing at the back of his mind. Something still felt horribly… _off._

That's when he realized she wasn't really pouring it. Instead she kept squeezing it with a distinct tempo, about five seconds between each squeeze. Every time she'd put pressure on the box the dusty white flakes would spill out, and each time she stopped so would the flow of dehydrated potato. Talk about fucking _weird._

But that wasn't even the strangest part.

Her hair was pulled back loosely, as it was nearly every day, that little braid pulled back with the rest, but the long strands flowing down her back looked almost… _alive._ The golden locks floated lazily around her face and shoulders, the way it would if she was underwater. It was surreal. The pain in his chest ratcheted up a notch as his heart rate increased in a tempo of its own. Definitely faster than five second intervals between the beats.

He must have made a noise or something because Beth looked up from the box. The box, Daryl noted with something akin to dread beginning to swirl deep within him, that never got larger but never seemed to empty. And the bowl beneath it, that never grew but never filled. She stood there, still squeezing out those damn potatoes, and regarded him with a gaze he couldn't quite decipher. Pity. Compassion. Concern. Maybe a mixture of all three.

"You shouldn't be here, Daryl." Beth told him almost defiantly. She never took her eyes off his, kept squeezing her stupid box of potatoes. As she stared across the room at him, the look set into her features melted into one of resolution, tears shone in her eyes, but didn't fall. "You need to go back. We can't lose you." Then she walked past him, heading outside, a broken trail of powdery flakes following her as she went.

Daryl stared at her retreating form, flabbergasted.

_What the fuck was that supposed to mean? _

_What the fuck just happened?_

A cold chill ran down his spine, making him shiver. Daryl shook it off and continued on to C block. The first thing he saw was Carol. Then he saw what she was doing and that pain in his chest spiked again. He knew it was caused by his heart pounding from an inordinate amount of adrenaline assaulting his veins, but something about it, much like everything else around here, was just _wrong._

Carol knelt on the floor in the middle of the room, her arms slick with blood up to the elbows. A single pristine white hand towel lay on the floor next to her right leg; on her other side was a pile of towels exactly like it, except they were drenched with red. One more was in her hands, and she used it to mop up a puddle of blood from the floor.

Daryl watched as she sopped up the blood, turning the puddle into nothing but a liquidy mess in need of a good scrubbing, and tossed the ruined thing onto the bloody mound beside her with a sickening _slop! _Then, when she reached over for that last towel one came away in her hands, but there was still one perfectly folded, snow-white towel lying there just as before. The bloodied patch on the floor welled back up into a puddle, right before their very eyes, and Carol went about cleaning it as though this were the most natural way for blood and floors and towels to behave.

Daryl was no pussy when it came to blood, or _anything_ really, he had an iron stomach, in fact. He thought he might retch, all the same.

Carol looked up at him, still drying up the pool of blood, throwing soiled towels onto the ever growing pile and pulling endless new ones from the never depleting single cloth to mop a fresh batch of coppery liquid. He could see that same mixture of emotions Beth had shown him swirling in Carol's eyes.

"What are you doing here, Daryl?" She cried sounding appalled. "Go back. You have to go back!"

When he did nothing but gape at her, she threw a final dripping cloth on top of the others, wiped her brow with her forearm, smearing blood across her face. She stood and walked over to him. "You're a strong man, Daryl. The strongest I've ever known." She spoke in a confiding tone, tender even. "You can do it. Go back."

Then she left the room.

Without her there to stem the flow of blood oozing from the floor, it was growing. And growing. Becoming a river. Seeping past its original boundaries and toward him. Recoiling, Daryl hurried from the cell block, deeper into the bowels of the prison.

* * *

"A 'comatose state'?" Rick felt as though someone else said the words. Not him. Some other man, from some other life, was standing there looking down on a broken stranger draped in a light blanket, thick white bandages peeking out from beneath it. He wasn't here. He was somewhere far away. In a hospital bed, in his own coma, dreaming some fucked up dream filled with death and decay and heartbreak. With people near and dear and true and others fabricated, artificial, imagined.

Any minute now he'd finally wake up and Lori would be there, beautiful and unspoiled by the horrors concocted in his twisted mind. Carl would greet him with a smile and a face that still shone with the childlike innocence he'd been robbed of by the cruelties of this life. Shane would laugh and ask if he'd had a nice nap and wasn't he ready to get back to work?, as he gave him a brotherly pat on the shoulder.

But that was just a steaming pile of horseshit.

He closed his eyes, letting out an exhausted sigh.

The operation had taken hours. Nearly six, in fact. Rick was far from an expert, but from what he could tell there hadn't been much change in Daryl's condition. The plank of wood was no longer jutting out of him, a definite improvement. They'd given him a round of antibiotics (only two more doses left on hand, and _god_ Rick hoped it'd be enough) and the blood had been cleaned up. But he was still ashen as ever. Still not breathing on his own. Beth continued to pump air into his lungs for him, only recently back at her post after Maggie had taken over for her somewhere around hour three.

Hershel hadn't been wrong when he'd told them Daryl's liver had probably taken damage; he'd ended up having to extract the injured section of the organ. He was clearly displeased that it was necessary, grumbling that Daryl was already weakened enough and it'd undoubtedly lengthen the recovery process, but assured them all once again that, with time, it would heal and regenerate. Nine splinters were removed from the wound, as well; some so large they could scarcely be categorized as such. And throughout it all, Daryl hadn't so much as twitched. _Of course he didn't. _Rick thought, the words 'comatose state' ringing harshly in his ears.

"I'm afraid so." Hershel replied gravely with a weary nod. "He could wake in as little as a few hours, or it could be days… or perhaps longer. I really have no way to know for certain. It could be caused by the head wound, or by the blood loss. It could be a combination of both, or it could be something else entirely. He needs a transfusion, but even if we had the necessary equipment, we don't know his blood type. Without a transfusion it's unlikely he'll last through the night."

Hershel paused, a look of deep sorrow filling his eyes. For a moment, Rick didn't think he'd ever seen the aged man look sadder. Not even when Shane had unleashed the walkers from the barn and the inevitable carnage that followed, or the night when the farm fell forcing them to flee and leave behind the home that had been in the farmer's family for generations. Rick watched as the pained look slipped from Hershel's eyes, his lips forming a grim line. "Carol, how many bags of saline do we have left?"

Carol crossed to the rolling table of medical supplies, rummaging through a cardboard box. "Fourteen." Came her muffled reply, her face still bent over the box as she continued moving around the contents.

"Good. Set up a second line and keep both running at all times. We can use it to help replace the blood he's lost. It won't be as effective as a transfusion and it'll take longer, but it just may be enough to turn the tables in his favor. With any luck it'll provide him enough strength to begin breathing on his own again. Hopefully, then, he'll come back to us."

Rick watched as Carol attached a second IV to the back of Daryl's right hand to match the one in his left, her movements deft and gentle. She and Daryl were very close, he knew. He could see the worry etched in her face just as well as he could see it on everyone else in the room, but not once, from the moment they arrived at the prison with Daryl bloodied and broken, to now, had she allowed her emotions to get the better of her. She simply took on each task that needed doing and did it. He couldn't help but admire her fortitude. The meek and oppressed woman he'd met back at the quarry was gone. She'd been reborn into a survivor. Mother to them all, friend, confidant. She was just… Carol. Thank god for Carol.

Hershel pushed himself up on his crutches and shuffled over to examine both IV lines and adjust the drip rates. Letting out a deep sigh, he looked to the others gathered around. "I've done all I can for him. It's up to him now."


End file.
